


It's A Silent J

by dragon_with_a_teacup



Series: Fowl Omens: The Nice and Fluffy Adventures of Mercury J. Crowley, Duck [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Ducks, Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Mercury J Crowley, Photo Shoots, Post-Canon, Romance, Social Media, Spring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:47:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24131572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_with_a_teacup/pseuds/dragon_with_a_teacup
Summary: Aziraphale peers at the screen. It displays a grid of images and the title “mercuryjcrowley” at the top.“‘Mercury J. Crowley, duck,’” Aziraphale reads aloud. “‘Demonic waterfowl. Likes water, Queen, and general chaos.’”Russian translation now available!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Fowl Omens: The Nice and Fluffy Adventures of Mercury J. Crowley, Duck [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1741162
Comments: 28
Kudos: 120





	It's A Silent J

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to elizabethelizabeth for beta reading!
> 
> I meant to have this done way closer to Easter, when this is set, but real life sucks, so it's very belated. Oh well, here you go!
> 
> Duplii has been kind enough to translate this series into Russian, and this installment can be found [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/9853597)!

One spring day, Aziraphale comes home from running an errand to find that the bookshop has turned pastel in his absence. He stops short, staring around in bewilderment.

Paper streamers and bunting in light blues and pinks and yellows and purples are draped from shelf to shelf. Flowers and wreaths rest on practically every flat surface and hang from nearly every section of bare wall. There are at least two baskets of brightly colored, glittered eggs, but likely more he can’t see, hidden throughout the shop.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale calls.

There’s no answer, which is how he knows something is wrong. The demon is up to something.

“Crowley!” he calls again, heading toward the back of the shop. There, he can hear telltale sounds.

_Peep! Peep! Peep!_

“Oi, come on, you dastardly—”

Aziraphale chuckles. “Crowley, what on earth are you—?”

He rounds the corner and stops. Crowley is perched on the living room table, hunched over, with a camera in his hands. His sunglasses are nowhere to be found, and his hair is in disarray, as if he’s run his fingers through it a dozen times. In a roughly constructed nest of twigs, surrounded by plastic eggs of various pastel shades, sits a duckling.

When Aziraphale had discovered Crowley’s new flatmate last week, he had been enchanted. Mercury the mallard had obviously been lost or abandoned by her parents in St. James Park, so she had latched onto Crowley. Further proof, in Aziraphale’s eyes, that Crowley is worth so much more love and affection than he believes.

That said, the learning curve for raising a duckling has been steep. Aziraphale has been caught off guard more than once by how much care this tiny creature needs—and by how much mess she makes.

At the moment, Mercury seems to be behaving herself, at least as much as a duck being raised by a demon can behave. She spots Aziraphale and peeps a few times in greeting.

“Hello, lovely girl,” Aziraphale coos, bending over to peer down at her. “What’s he got you doing now, hmm?”

“Angel,” Crowley says, just this side of a whine. “You’re in my light!”

“Oh,” Aziraphale steps back, dropping into his armchair to watch the proceedings. “I’m so sorry.”

Crowley shifts, moving a few inches to the side. “Oi, over here, you silly goose!” He snaps his fingers to get Mercury’s attention. “That’s it.” The camera shutter clicks.

“Whatever are you doing?” Aziraphale asks.

“What’s it look like? Photoshoot.”

“Well, certainly. But… Why?” Aziraphale gazes around the shop, at the absurd amount of seasonal decor. “For Easter Sunday?”

Crowley makes a skeptical sound. “Seems a bit weird, celebrating all that like a human would, considering we were, y’know, _there_. Nah, this is just… for spring. Y’know, flowers, plants, things.”

Aziraphale smiles. “Well, it’s quite cheerful in here.”

“Well, I wasn’t very well gonna put all this camp, happy nonsense in my place, was I? Makes much more sense here, in an angel’s bookshop.” Crowley has moved to the sofa now, leaning dangerously over the arm, to get whatever angle he’s after.

Aziraphale observes for a while, amusement increasing with each picture Crowley takes. He takes several more of Mercury in the nest, then moves her to other parts of the shop. He poses her in front of one of the bouquets, then on an open book next to a single pink rose blossom, then standing on a pile of books surrounded by eggs, then perched in one of the hanging floral wreaths.

This last attempt is an abysmal failure, however, as Mercury seems dead set against sitting in this precarious construction. She leaps out of it, peeping, three times in a row. Crowley has to scramble to catch her each time, all the while cursing at her (even as he cradles her close, stroking her, making sure she is unharmed). At last, he gives up, and stalks back toward Aziraphale.

He drops Mercury into Aziraphale’s lap and then drapes himself across the couch, fiddling with some buttons on the camera. “Ugh. Okay, well that’s that.”

“Whatever possessed you to do this, my dear?” Aziraphale asks. He picks up Mercury and lets her perch on his shoulder, her preferred spot lately. She curls up and nuzzles into his neck, softly peeping; he grins.

Crowley mumbles something under his breath. Aziraphale looks over and sees that his face has reddened.

“What was that?”

“... followers.”

“Followers? What?”

“On her Instagram.”

Aziraphale blinks. “Her what?”

Crowley, still scarlet, pulls out his mobile telephone, clicks a few buttons, and hands it over to Aziraphale. He takes it and peers at the screen. It displays a grid of images and the title “mercuryjcrowley” at the top.

“‘Mercury J. Crowley, duck,’” Aziraphale reads aloud. “‘Demonic waterfowl. Likes water, Queen, and general chaos.’”

He scrolls through the images. Each picture and video depicts Mercury in a different situation—skittering around the bookshop, exploring the potted plants at Crowley’s flat, splashing about in her tartan swimming pool, and on and on.

“You’ve created a social media account for our duckling?”

“Yeah, obviously. All part of her demonic upbringing.”

Aziraphale frowns. “And how does that work exactly?”

Crowley stammers out a few incomprehensible noises before he manages, “Oh, y-you know, like, sowing… jealousy. Everyone loves cute things, and when they see one, they’re jealous that they can’t have it.”

Privately, Aziraphale thinks Crowley could have made that sound much more convincing. Privately, he thinks Crowley only wants to show off Mercury to as many people as possible.

After all, Crowley may be a surprisingly competent duck parent, but he is still far from being a competent demon. The process of shaping Mercury into the official minion of a foul fiend has involved far fewer dastardly schemes than it has cuddling and doting.

But he’ll let Crowley claim whatever he wants to claim, if it keeps him happy.

“I see,” Aziraphale says, still eyeing the phone screen. “But I’ve been meaning to ask…”

Crowley glances over. “Sup?”

“What does the J stand for? In Mercury’s name, that is.”

Crowley blinks rapidly, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Aziraphale recognizes obvious Crowley-indicators that he hasn’t planned for this question, nor does he have a coherent answer.

Aziraphale is reminded of the time, nearly a year ago, when he asked if Crowley would like to kiss him.

“It’s… er, Quack,” Crowley says, words stumbling over each other. “Her middle name is Quack.”

“Wh… what?” Aziraphale takes a moment to let that answer sink in. “That doesn’t have a J in it, dearest.”

Crowley nods, making a slightly hysterical noise that’s halfway between a cough and a yelp. “It’s a silent J.”

Aziraphale frowns. “But where—”

Crowley swings his legs off the couch, springs to his feet in one fluid motion, and then insinuates himself into Aziraphale’s lap. This quite effectively distracts Aziraphale from what he was about to say—which is certainly Crowley’s intention.

Mercury lets out an indignant peep in response to the disruption. Crowley quickly snatches her off Aziraphale’s shoulder before she falls, then sets her on the ground.

“Sorry, goose, gotta evict you for a minute,” he says, before kissing Aziraphale.

Amused, Aziraphale kisses back for a minute, wrapping his arms around Crowley, touching his hips and his neck and his hair, tilting his head back to allow Crowley to press kisses all down his jaw. In his mind, though, he has begun counting.

Three… two… one.

_Peep! Peep! Peep!_

Crowley pulls away with a growl. “Do you always have to do that?”

“She doesn’t always do that,” Aziraphale points out. “Besides, you’re the one who stole her spot.”

Crowley turns back to him, lifting a brow. He leans in and kisses Aziraphale’s neck again. “Didn’t hear you complaining before.”

_Peep! Peep! Peep!_

“Mercury,” Aziraphale says, trying to muster a stern tone, but it comes out rather more breathy than he intends.

“Ignore her,” Crowley says. And they do.

For a minute.

A loud crash makes Aziraphale jump. Crowley jerks backward, and they both turn.

Mercury, seemingly in an effort to entertain herself while her parents are occupied, has climbed a stack of books across the room, clambered onto an end table, and knocked a teacup onto the floor. She lets out a soft chirp, though it is a sound that utterly lacks any repentance.

“Oh, no,” Aziraphale says. “I loved that teacup…”

Crowley stands and steps toward the mess. As he reaches down toward the cup, it springs back into one piece. He turns and tosses the cup toward Aziraphale, underhanded. Aziraphale fumbles a bit, but Crowley’s throw is accurate, and he manages to catch it. He eyes it and is relieved to find that it is as if nothing ever happened.

“Oh, thank you,” Aziraphale says, meeting Crowley’s gaze and smiling.

Crowley shrugs. “’S nothing.”

_Peep! Peep! Peep!_

“What is it, you ornery little menace?” Crowley asks, then glances down. Mercury is rubbing against his hand where it rests on the table.

Crowley manages to sustain his scowl for another four seconds before he caves and picks her up. She snuggles into his cupped hands, chirping in a pleased way.

Crowley grumbles, then sits down sideways across Aziraphale’s lap and readjusts Mercury. She settles across his legs, and together she and Aziraphale watch Crowley draft post after pastel-colored post.

Aziraphale pets Mercury’s down, then leans forward to press a kiss to Crowley’s cheek.

“I love you both, you know,” he says.

Crowley makes a faux-displeased noise. “Don’t be mushy with me, Angel. Messes with my reputation, that does.”

Aziraphale watches him apply a filter over another photo, and smiles privately.

Soft demon, he thinks to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't figure out how to actually get the picture to attach properly in the fic, so uhhh here is [a post from Mercury's Instagram](https://imgur.com/a/pAmjUK1?fbclid=IwAR2VtelCfEZh3zMJGRXlXBIg358-m2DeBjwUr1vo3-uXUCB8G7I7FW2RrjY), made by elizabethelizabeth.


End file.
